


How long can you run?

by ViolentVioletEye



Series: How long can you run? [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hypothermia, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Protective Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Soup, escaping, platonic of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28200297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolentVioletEye/pseuds/ViolentVioletEye
Summary: Why are you here?The thought snuck into his mind as he stared at Dream’s back.Why are you here? He doesn’t care about you. Just like the others, he doesn’t care. If he cared about you, he wouldn’t let you sleep on this cold floor. He wouldn’t yell at you for wanting to see a pretty tree. Phil wouldn’t do that. He would take you to see all of the pretty trees. He would give you the bed and only share if you asked him to, he would keep you warm and whisper a bedtime story to you while combing his fingers through your hair. If he cared about you, he wouldn’t manipulate you. He wouldn’t hurt you.He stared at Dream, tears gradually coming to a stop.Why are you here?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: How long can you run? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068791
Comments: 25
Kudos: 840





	How long can you run?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not in the best of places right now. Tommyinnit has become a comfort streamer and seeing the latest arcs have just broken my heart (that's not why I'm not in the best of places rn, I'm not even gonna get into that) My girlfriend gave me some word prompts that were DreamSMP related, and so I made this. I used every prompt she gave me, so I'm pretty proud. The ones that are bolded are the words she gave me. You can use them if you'd like. I mainly wrote this to cheer myself up, but my girlfriend really liked it and said I should upload it, so here we are. That being said, Technoblade is probably really OOC.
> 
> I'm not dead. I'm trying to get back into writing, into being active again, I really like the stories I have going right now, and I really wanna finish them but right now, it's just really hard to... function, I guess. But I'm okay. I'll pull myself out of this slump soon, I'm sure. I love you guys, and I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> TW for emotional manipulation. I mean, it's Dream, so what else do you expect? (the rp character obviously, not the actual guy, love him) Oh, and, it does mention Dream and Tommy sharing a bed, but its really just platonic. Also another manipulation tactic from Dream. You'll see. I promise, I didn't make Dream a creep.

Tommy stared at the **bones** , all of which was the only thing that remained of the skeleton Dream had just killed. Mobs were getting too close to the tent again, so the masked man had gone out to take care of them. The skeleton had been first, as it had been the closest, and was actually what made Dream leave the flimsy tent. It had shot through the fabric and just missed Dream’s hand as he was lighting a candle. The mask hid his face, but the way he stood and yanked his ax up off the ground was all Tommy needed to know that he was absolutely _pissed._

Tommy was just glad he wasn’t pissed at him.

He stared at the bones and wondered if he was any different from that skeleton. Was he any different from the skeleton? They were both damned souls, wandering for no reason. They didn’t have wants, desires, anyone waiting for them to come back home—they were an empty soul wandering for no reason at all. His stomach growled and he winced. He was hungry, so, so hungry, but he wasn’t allowed to cook anything, and with winter here nothing was growing. Dream told him he couldn’t be trusted with anything fire-related, except for when he had him use a flint and steel to ignite TNT to blow up any items he had gathered every time Dream came around. Dream had given him some chicken, but it had tasted like ash in his mouth and it hadn’t filled him up. He didn’t know why. He knew he should be grateful. He didn’t let his displeasure show, instead, he made sure to put on a bright smile and thank Dream profusely. Anything to keep the man from getting angry. Sometimes he believed his own act. Other days, like today, he questioned it.

Dream came back, flicking zombie guts from his shoulder with an air of disinterest. He sat down on the floor and finished lighting the candle, sighing softly as he leaned back against the crafting table behind him. He crossed his arms behind his head, chin tilted up to the ceiling. Tommy watched him closely, head propped up on his knees which were drawn to his chest.

Well, now that he thought about it, he had been wrong. He and the skeleton were different in two ways. One was that he did have someone waiting for him. He wouldn’t consider this a home, but, Dream was often waiting for him to come back to the tent whenever he ventured out from the beach— _never that far, he knew what would happen if he caused the boundaries Dream had laid for him_ —and he wasn’t sure if he was a friend, but… He was someone. Someone who _cared_ about Tommy. No one cared about him nowadays.

The other thing was that the skeleton got death as a release. Tommy didn’t. It was never his time to die.

“Dream?” He whispered after a few moments of silence. Dream grunted. Tommy shifted, already thinking of backing out. But he could feel Dream’s gaze on him, and he knew he was expected to answer now. The man always wanted to know what was going on in his head. He didn’t want any questions left unasked, nothing left with an answer no matter how biting and cruel it could be. “I-I want to see the **Christmas tree**.” He whispered. He fidgeted, playing with the end of his tattered shirt sleeve. “T-The one they made? In l’Manberg? I- heard Ghostbur and Sapnap talking about it again, and, and it sounded really beautiful—”

“No.”

Tommy’s heart sank, but he never knew when to stop pushing. Even now. “Please?” He whispered. “Please, Dream, I won’t even be there for five minutes, I just— I just wanna see—”

“I said _no,_ Tommy!” Dream snapped, standing up, arms falling to his sides. Tommy shrank down in his shadow, heart pounding when he noticed Dream’s ax was still in the scabbard on his hip. He could feel the fire of Dream’s glare through his mask, even though he couldn’t see his face he had figured out how to read it, how to tell when Dream was angry, pleased, happy, annoyed—all of it. And right now, he was angry. Borderline furious. “Jesus _Christ!_ You know why you can’t go! Tell me! Tell me why you can’t go!”

Tears welled in Tommy’s eyes and spilled down his cheeks. He hid his face in his hands as it burned with shame. Dream took a step towards him and he sobbed in fright. He wished he had just kept his big mouth shut. When would he learn?

 _“B-Because no one wants me!”_ He choked out, the process of forcing those words out agonizing, but just the idea of Dream’s ax biting into his flesh hurt even more. _“No one wants me, no one cares about me!”_

“Exactly,” Dream snarled. He took a few steps away from him, towards the bed in the corner. There was only one, there was really only room for one. “No one gives a damn about you, Tommy, only me—and you make that so goddamn hard, with how much of a _burden_ you can be.”

Tommy shook as he wobbled to his feet. If Dream was headed for the bed, then it was time for bed. Since there was only one bed, they often shared it. It had been weird at first, but he couldn’t make _Dream Taken-Piège_ sleep outside. Especially when it started getting cold. Then he came to enjoy it, to have any sort of contact was so _welcomed_ after everyone stopped coming to see him. After everyone finally stopped acting like they cared. Not to mention, Dream was _really_ warm. That was very welcomed in this coldest winter Tommy had ever experienced, in his tattered clothes and flimsy tent. He rubbed at his face as he shuffled to the bed, trying to sniffle his sobs.

But then Dream shoved him so hard he started crying all over again as he hit the floor, staring up at him with wide-eyed horror. Dream seemed to leer over him, even when he was sitting on the bed. “Do you seriously think you deserve to sleep in this bed after talking back to me?” Tommy’s eyes widened. Dream scoffed. “You’re still so goddamn selfish, even after all this time.” He reached up and took off his mask, and Tommy quickly looked down. It was obvious that he didn’t deserve to see his face, not this time. He watched as Dream set the mask on the floor with a hollow clank of porcelain against stone.

“Maybe sleeping on the floor for a night will help you remember how kind I’ve been to you when I sure as hell didn’t need to be.” Tommy scooted away from the bed until his back was pressed against the crafting table Dream had been sitting against a moment before. It had the slightest of warmth, but it was already fading. Dream turned his back on him as he laid on his side, pulling the warm blanket up to his chin. “Goodnight, Tommy.”

“...”

“I said _goodnight, Tommy.”_

“G-Goodnight… Dream…”

***_*_*_*_*  
**

**Cold.** He was so cold. It was snowing out there, and the cold wind battered on the walls of the tent. If he were in bed with Dream, he’d be fine. But instead, he was stuck on the cold floor with chattering teeth, tears racing down his cheeks, and his exposed skin stinging from exposure. He made sure to stay as quiet as he could. If he woke Dream up, there would be hell to pay. Then again, hell seemed oh so warm.

_Why are you here?_

The thought snuck into his mind as he stared at Dream’s back.

 _Why are you here? He doesn’t care about you. Just like the others, he doesn’t care. If he cared about you, he wouldn’t let you sleep on this cold floor. He wouldn’t yell at you for wanting to see a pretty tree. Phil wouldn’t do that. He would take you to see all of the pretty trees. He would give you the bed and only share if you asked him to, he would keep you warm and whisper a bedtime story to you while combing his fingers through your hair. If he cared about you, he wouldn’t manipulate you. He wouldn’t_ hurt _you._

He stared at Dream, tears gradually coming to a stop.

_Why are you here?_

Slowly, bones aching and stiff from the cold and sitting in one place for who knew how long, Tommy stood up. He stumbled and grabbed onto the ice-cold crafting table to keep himself from falling. He watched Dream closely, waited for him to wake up, and ask what the hell he was doing. But he didn’t shift, his breaths stayed deep and steady, and he didn’t move out from underneath that warm blanket as Tommy shuffled to the entrance of the tent. He untied the strip of leather holding it closed and didn’t bother to tie it back as he stepped outside, right out into the snow. He looked back at the tent, at Dream’s still sleeping figure, then out at the snowy landscape around him. There weren’t many mobs out tonight. Probably because of Dream’s little rampage earlier.

He didn’t know where he was going. He just knew he didn’t want to be here. So he walked, walked against the snow and the biting wind, and didn’t look back.

***_*_*_*_***

**Numb**. Tommy was so numb. Everything had hurt at first when he walked through the blinding snow, both on the ground and what was falling. His shoes had been falling apart before he even started walking, and he could feel even more bits falling off. He left the pieces behind him, just as he had with the beach, the tent, with Dream—he didn’t know where he was going and he didn’t care. He just wanted to go away. He wanted to get somewhere warm. He wanted to get somewhere safe.

His feet hit something solid and he fell forward, putting his arms out to catch himself. His face buried into some snow and he yelped before he pulled his head back, tears already welling in his eyes as he rubbed at his cold face. Well, more like pawed. He had bits of snow on his face, his hair, and he was pretty sure he was able to get most of it off but his face burned with such a burning cold he wished he had died the moment he hit the ground.

Then he realized he wasn’t on the ground. His knees were buried into something hard, manmade, and he was slanted like he was leaned against something. He blinked as he looked around, and he realized that he had fallen on the steps of a… a house.

His eyes widened. A _house._ Lights were on, glowing through the windows, which meant someone was home. He could hear a horse whinnying but when he looked around he couldn’t see them through the thick snow. He scrambled to his feet, fell halfway up the snow-covered steps, but didn’t let that keep him from trying again. As he scrambled up onto the **porch** , part of his mind whispered to him that this was a bad idea. This could be anyone’s house. He could have wandered back into l’Manberg territory somehow. But another part of him snapped back, telling them they didn’t _care._ If he was going to die, then he’d rather die by a sword than to the goddamn cold.

He raised his fist and knocked on the door, once, twice, and then slumped to the ground. He didn’t have the strength to do anything else. Everything was becoming numb again, the adrenaline and excitement of stumbling upon this home quickly fading. _He_ was fading, and he could feel his senses being muffled, almost like he was turning into a cotton ball. He felt fuzzy, but not in a good way. Kinda like how when a limb fell asleep and it felt like it was full of static.

The door opened and he felt inklings of warmth, light falling over him, along with a tall shadow. Heard a horrified whisper before everything faded to black.

_“Tommy?”_

_***_*_*_*_*** _

When he came to, he was surrounded by warmth. In front of him, coming from a fire roaring away in a fireplace. And behind him and around him, from a scarlet red cloak wrapped tight around him. He was leaned back against someone’s broad chest, their arms wrapped around him, clutching his hands and rubbing them, trying to get the blood circulating so he could make his own warmth again. He sat between their legs, which were on either side of him, reaching towards the fire with his own feet. His shoes were off, and the first thing he registered was the state of his feet. They looked horrible. They were covered in bruises, cuts, some of which were still bleeding, and while his heels burned like he had been walking for hours everything else felt horribly numb.

He whimpered and shut his eyes, turning his face and burying it into the strong chest he was leaned against. One of the hands lifted from his and stroked his hair instead. “Are you back to me?” A voice muttered above his head, and he could feel the rumble of the deep tone in the chest. He only knew two people who had that deep of a voice, and only one of them had a red cloak.

“T… Tech…”

Techno. Techno Blade-Minecraft, his estranged brother. Techno, who he had heard was retired and hiding out somewhere, away from l’Manberg that wanted him executed for his crimes. Techno, who was _right here._

“It’s alright,” Techno whispered. “You’re okay. You’re warming up really well.” He shifted behind Tommy, slowly pulling himself away from him. Tommy whimpered, reaching out after him, but Techno only grabbed his hand and squeezed it reassuringly before he moved to a furnace in the corner of the room. Tommy wobbled, finding it difficult to stay sitting up by himself, but he managed. He watched as Techno grabbed an iron pot that was sitting on the stovetop of the furnace, putting it on the counter beside it. He pulled off the lid, and Tommy’s eyes widened. He felt like he could burst into tears right then and there. Was that what he thought it was?

Techno filled a wooden bowl with the creamy liquid inside the pot, and by the time he was coming back to Tommy, the boy was shaking for a whole different reason. Techno knelt and gently handed him the soup, helping him get a grip on the bowl before he sat behind him again, letting him lean back against him as he dug into the soup. The moment the first spoonful met Tommy’s tongue, he felt like he could cry, and not because it was scalding.

It was. It was Techno’s **potato soup**. He had made the recipe all by himself, through trial and error, and it was the most delicious soup Tommy had ever had to this very day. To taste it again, when he was at his lowest, when he was so cold, so in need of comfort, when he yearned for better, happier times…

Tears poured down his cheeks as he scarfed the soup down as if his very life depended on it. He choked about six bites in, covering his mouth with the back of his wrist as Techno rubbed circles into his back. He bowed his head and he felt Techno kiss the top of it, muttering, “Take it slow, honey, I made plenty.”

The contents of the bowl were gone a few moments later. Techno left his side only to get him more, and as he ate that bowl, admittedly much slower than the first one, Techno turned his attention to his feet. Tommy whimpered around his mouthfuls of soup as he took a washcloth dipped in warm water to the cuts and bruises, washing away the dirt and the dried blood. He applied a cream—which he got from a jar with a brand imprinted on it that felt familiar to Tommy—to the scars, and then the bruises after a moment of hesitation. Afterward, he got some gauze and carefully wrapped each foot individually, being sure to go up to the ankles to ensure the gauze would stay.

He looked at Tommy after he was done, and saw that the kid was watching him with half-lidded eyes and an empty bowl in his lap. The corner of Techno’s mouth twitched up as Tommy’s eyes slid shut, head tipping forward, only for his eyes to quickly flutter open as he straightened his head. Techno stood and walked to his side, carefully taking the bowl before he put it in his sink to be washed later. Afterward, he crouched down and pulled Tommy into his arms. He stood and gently threw him over his shoulder, and Tommy didn’t even squirm or complain. His arms were limp, dangling over Techno’s shoulders, limp fingers brushing against his hair which was done in its usual braid.

Techno moved up the ladder carefully, keeping one arm wrapped around him while the other was used to grab onto the ladder rugs. Once he had them back on the floor, he loosened his grip on Tommy and walked over to the bed, pulling the blankets back before laying him down carefully. He was so focused on making sure the kid had enough blankets that he didn’t realize Tommy had already fallen asleep until his arms slipped off his shoulders and fell onto the bed limply, one hanging over the edge.

Techno let himself smile completely this time, though it was sad and it didn’t fully reach his eyes. Carefully, so as not to rouse the kid, he pulled the blankets up to his chin. The teen looked absolutely precious with the tip of his nose and his cheeks a cherry red, still wrapped up in his cloak and now three fluffy blankets to keep him as comfortable as possible, tucked into **a nice warm bed**. Techno wished he had put a fireplace in this room too. Oh well. Maybe he could find a way to put one in later if need be.

He turned away from his younger brother who was now fast asleep on his bed and his smile dropped away, eyes darkening like the moonless sky outside.

***_*_*_*_***

Techno felt like he was [**burning.** ](https://youtu.be/mFuITzk5t6o?t=162)

_“D-Don’t, Dream, please…!”_

A terrified, almost feverish whimper, pulled straight from his brother’s lips as he was dragging him into his room to warm him by the fire. How _dare_ he. How _dare_ Dream do this to his brother. Who the hell did he think he was? Not only did he hurt Tommy, but he also _lied_ to Techno by telling him that Tommy was doing fine in exile, that he was _safe_ in his care. You could do whatever you wanted to Techno. You could talk shit to his face and behind his back. You could try to break him, you would surely fail but you could try. You could spread all of the rumors you wanted. That was how his Blood God title started. But there were _two_ things you couldn’t do, lest you wanted to be a true enemy to the infamous Blade.

You couldn’t _dare_ lie to him.

You couldn’t _dare_ to hurt his family.

He had been a goddamn fool to ever trust Dream, his once-rival, now full-blown _enemy._

Techno’s hands didn’t shake. Not even now. They were steady as he picked up his communicator. But inside, he wanted to scream. He wanted to hurl the communicator into the wall, smash it into pieces, run outside to slaughter every single mob in the area. Maybe knock down a few trees while he was at it. As much as he wanted to scream, to hunt down that green bastard and make him regret every word he had ever spat at his brother, every time he had raised his hand or weapon to him, he didn’t. He merely typed a simple command and then a short message.

 _Technoblade whispered to DreamWasTaken:_ **_How long can you run?_ **

He got his response sometime after sunrise, as he was making new clothes for his brother who still slept like a log in his bed, still just a floor above him.

_DreamWasTaken whispered to Technoblade: Excuse me?_

He laughed, softly and lowly, as his sharpened sword gleamed on the wall behind him.

***_*_*_*_***

_So look me in the eyes if you dare._

_You learn a lesson right then and there._

**Author's Note:**

> Y'know the laugh in the theme I linked? Exactly.
> 
> The prompts were:
> 
> Potato soup  
> A nice warm bed  
> Cold  
> Numb  
> Bones  
> How long can you run?  
> Burning  
> Christmas tree  
> Porch
> 
> I mixed up the order, obviously. If y'all have been inspired by this and wanna do anything, lemme know ^^ I'd love to read them.


End file.
